


As the Sun Sets

by DarthSuki



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, M/M, Other, Smut, Trans Male Character, Warning for the use of anatomically correct terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 08:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: The reader is a member of the Fletchling and Moondrop Carnival, taken in when they decide that they may earn more coin for their musical skills on the road than at the mercy of those in their home city. They have grown close to many of the members of the carnival, Molly especially, and the reader learns that they may have more talents in magic than in music.





	As the Sun Sets

**Author's Note:**

> This was made with the support of my patrons on [my patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/darthsuki)

When you thought back on how things happened, it was a mystery not in the position that led to you joining the traveling carnival, but in the fact that you had joined the carnival to begin with. The band of misfits had, over the months of being with them, become something akin to a family to you. Many a night were secrets shared over a flickering fire, and many more were there when you hadn’t a fire at all, but the shared comfort of one another to get through the times when towns didn’t want you or, worse yet, would chase you away.

Up until recently in your life, the need to join such a band wasn’t a requirement--you had some money, some influence and certainly the contacts to truly make a place for yourself if you really, absolutely wanted to. Though your relationship with your parents had become estranged and tense, there were some distant relatives you had an inkling may help--with some difficult changes to your life, especially since many of them didn’t take very kindly to half of your parentage--drow were, if anything, a very racially-tense subject to those who felt they were somehow better simply by the differences in their bloodline.

The carnival found you somewhere on they gray expanse of being both homed and homeless; a performer with just enough coin to stay at a local inn, though a single bad day could have meant going without a bed.

You had few talents, but of those few, your knowledge and passion was nothing to be trifled with. Particularly, the carnival master, Gustav Fletching, seemed taken by your playing of the violin. It was the only gift of your family that you took any pride in, if only due to the fact that you had played it since you were old enough to hold the instrument in your hands.

It took time for you to realize what the half-elven man had seen in your playing. Sure, you had shown some admirable talent, but street performers were a dime-a-dozen in some larger towns, many of which the carnival had certainly been through before--so why you?

Nevertheless, the offer came with coin, food, and a group of people whom all seemed to be tightly-knit enough to care for one another. It was nice; the first month or so was spent being more of a helping-hand than anything else, getting to know the others and learning the ins-and-outs of being a carnie like them.

It was nice.

\----

“I don’t know how you’re able to perform without seizing up.” The words fell from your lips in a whisper, staring out onto the stage where Orna, a woman known only as the “Fire Fairy” to the audience, weaved about with her fans of flame. She danced like her namesake, capturing the attention of all who laid eyes upon her seemingly-ethereal form. 

All at least, except for you and a spare few of the carnival folk who had either recently performed or were still waiting for their own performance.

You were meant to go shortly after Orna finished, after all, though you doubted that you could come anywhere close to how the woman seemed to flitter and float in the gazes taking her in. 

“I wish I could say it was a bit of a talent,” said Bo, the half-orc member of the carnival, as he stood to one side of you. He had been watching Orna’s performance since she began, only occasionally flicking his glance away while talking to you. “I suppose it’s jus’ something you get used to over time. It’s not like you don’t have some experience performin’ in front of others now, just think of it being all the same.”

You wanted to disagree with him, but his logic was more than sound in the face of it all. Still, the nerves of performing on the corner of a cobblestone street was nothing when compared to this, playing in the center of an expanse of earth and under the gaze of at least a hundred--two hundred?--people. It could be so easy to mess up, to play a wrong note, to trip over your own feet mid-performance, to--

“Take a breath, will you?” A second voice, and a hand on your shoulder, pulled you out of your momentary panic. “I assume you don’t want t’pass out before you even start playing right?”

It took a moment to recognize the voice and place a name to it, but only a moment. It wasn’t too difficult to memorize the names of people when they were all so unique (or weird in the words of some). 

A flash of a gentle grin, lavender skin and golden-decorated horns filled your mind and calmed you some. Mollymauk did have a point to his words. You only noticed that your breathing had quickened considerably when the tiefling pointed it out, and you gave an almost comedic, unsubtle suck of air into your lungs.

“Totally not going to pass out,” You say it with an almost bloated confidence, trying to psych yourself up more than convince him that you’re not going to be a crumpled mess on the floor in the next couple minutes. “Just...gonna close my eyes and play. I mean, I’ve played for you guys plenty right? Completely the same. Ish. A little.”

“Sometimes that helps,” Molly chuckled and pat your shoulder with the hand that had been squeezing it a moment before. “If it helps, people have been staring at the water more than the performances tonight. Can’t blame them--I can see why Gustav didn’t want the full tent put up.”

He was right. The oddest difference in setting up in Mav’ren was, if anything, the beautiful lake that surrounded it and broke into several rivers. In fact, the carnival itself had been set-up between two of them, a near-makeshift island connected by sturdy bridges, which only increased the appeal of the carnival itself. Many of the acts were only complimented by the glistening water behind the performance area, and Orna was no exception to it. 

The Fire Fairy’s dance gained an even greater power about it from the way the flames flickered and danced across the surface of the water behind her. She almost looked like a spirit, wreathed in flames and surrounded by the awe of the audience, so thick that you could almost reach out and steal it for your own performance later that evening.

If only.

The moon was bright in the sky by the time your performance came about. You stood ready, instrument in hand and ears perked for the sound of your name being introduced to the curious people of the town who chose to lose a few copper pieces for, what you hoped at least, was a good time. You also hoped that your performance, lackluster when compared to people like Orna, Bo or the Knot Sisters, had preceded you. 

Regardless of your lack of self-confidence, Gustav introduced you as if you were something far better than merely a young drow man playing a violin--he made you sound sublime, something to enrapture the soul and titillate the senses nearly to the level that Toya, the young dwarven girl, did with her singing. Though it was a kind gesture, you deeply hoped that he wouldn’t later regret it.

* * *

 

You stepped onto the stage with your throat feeling tight. Your stomach in knots, your muscles tensed up. The hand that held the bow was gripping too hard, and the other nearly moved just wrong to hit the violin to your own face. 

_ Stupid, stupid.  _

Your breathing felt uneven, too fast, but a glance to the crowd carried the fitful sight of familiar faces watching you set up yourself. Gentle red eyes. Calming smiles. Careful hand gestures, ones that, while the owners knew nothing about playing a violin, did enough to at least keep you steady on your feet. 

Mollymauk had said something minutes before you were introduced, and his words began to swim through your mind evenly, carefully--you let them fill your thoughts and drown out the nerves and anxiety that threatened to swallow you up.

_ Focus on your craft, your music, the way the melody ripples around you like the rivers behind you. Focus on the water, on the notes, on the way it makes you feel free and happy. _

With the words echoing deep within your psyche, your hand brings up the bow to your instrument in a motion that is both slow and measured. Silence falls over the crowd as they watch, breath bated--

And you begin to play.

* * *

 

There is no singular word that could ever properly describe the feeling that flowed through your mind when the bow drew across the strings of your violin. It felt like magic, pulsing hot as the sound bloomed into the air around you.

The notes sounded so pure, so hauntingly beautiful as they carried with them the same awe and power that you had felt in them since you were young, when you first wrapped your fingers around both neck and bow of the instrument and played--perhaps it was a little less beautiful in your untrained hands as a child, but time had softened the sharp notes and replaced them with bountiful melodies.

You usually enjoyed to play with your eyes open, solely so you could watch the faces of those who listened. There was satisfaction in their expressions, a sense of pride that came when you knew others were just as engrossed in the sound as you were. Normally you had little fright of performance, but that night, on the earthen stage, you felt a kindling of fear and terror seeping up into you.

So you kept your eyes closed during the entire performance. 

Not one to be made still, even due to fear, your legs moved you on their own accord. There was so little one could do when their entire upper body had to focus so keenly on the instrument in hand, but your legs moved you, slowly, carefully, in tune and rhythm of the song pouring from your careful hand that drew the bow over the strings of the violin.

The song last for many long minutes, moving through slow, sorrowful dips and high-energy flourishes that many had called inspirational in the past. It was a tune you knew well, a tune you had played for your new family many times over and never once wrote down--it was a song you created entirely in pieces, strung together through stubborn passion, and played with nothing less than your best.

This time you played with such fervor though, one you couldn’t begin to place--it felt as though you were filled with a burst of energy, of warmth seeping into your bones and chasing out the fear that had held them. It was exciting, in a way, and by the time the last note was drawn through the air you dared to open your eyes and take in the small sea of faces watching your final pose.

You saw the faces. All of them. But they weren’t looking at you--or, well, most of them weren’t.

Most of the audience seemed to be instead engrossed in the floating, gently-pulsing orbs of water around you. It took you a few long, silent moment to realize not only what they were, but also to connect the dots to the fact that they were surrounding  _ you. _

The orbs looked almost crystalline and pure it not for the gentle, sloshing motion. Dozens of them surrounded you at all angles, reflecting the caught moonlight in a dazzling display that nearly looked like it was done purposefully, if not for the look of pure confusion painted on your face.

The confusion didn’t last for long however, because the moment that your gaze broke away from one of the orbs, the moment seemed to snap and your focus shifted back to the real world around you (the fear that everyone was staring at you for anything other than a beautiful performance) and then just as suddenly as your thoughts snapped into place--

The orbs of water--magical, it had to be--seemed to burst from their hold and fall to the ground in big wet splashes against the earth. One of them even fell over your head just as you turned to peer at your friends, covering your upper body in cold, wet water.

At least the audience found that funny enough.

* * *

 

By the time the carnival was empty of patrons, the night had matured into a blanket of quiet darkness. Peace seemed to fall over every living thing beneath the starlit sky. Campfires were lit, food cooked and conversation already passing between one member to another of the wandering group of misfits.

Normally, you enjoyed listening to their voices. Soft. Pleasant, sometimes thick with drunken stupor, but tonight was somewhat....odd. Layers of insecurity combined with confusion and awe, because all of the conversations were about one thing in particular: you and your spectacular performance that night.

Well, you certainly didn’t use the word ‘spectacular’. It wasn’t a word you likened to use in reference to yourself, not the one to draw the most attention--being beloved for your talents by your close friends and perhaps some audience members was more than enough for you. 

But still the crew went on, though they wanted to know more about it, specifically how you managed to put on such a show.

“I didn’t realize you were a magic wielder,” Mollymauk chuckled, tipping back a shot of liquor that he bought while in town, passing it around to others who wanted to also indulge in the fiery alcohol. “Thought you said that violin was the only thing you were good at; a little liar are you?” 

His words could have seemed pointed to anyone who didn’t know him well enough to catch the warmth in his tone, or the slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips. An elbow of a halfling girl pushed into his side regardless.

“Don’ give him a hard time,” Mona chastised, echoed by her sister Yuli, a grin forming over both of their faces when Molly only sputtered in surprise to the hard elbow to the ribcage. 

The group murmured a variety of responses--it wasn’t unheard of for people to keep secrets; after all, everyone had them. There wasn’t a single person employed by the Fletching and Moondrop Carnival who didn’t have a mildly enigmatic past clinging to them, but it was never something that garnered such interest before.

It didn’t help that you were just as awed as those around you, only feeding into the curiosity and need-to-know, even from those who otherwise tried to seem disinterested in your magical performance on stage that night. Many of them brushed it off as late-learned magic, but many still seemed stubborn to the teeth to hear what your say on it was.

You sat with a group of them as you were used to. The firepit was lit and the flames were flickering, gently, the tips seeming to reach towards the endless night sky. Several members were drinking to the bountiful night of festivities--the seats were full, attendance was amazing and, best of all, there wasn’t a single issue to be had for the entire night. The carnival would stay a few nights more before packing up and beginning the cycle anew.

The question on everyone’s mind though: would you be doing a performance like that again?

“I-...I don’t know?” Was the best you could offer at first, shrugging your shoulders before peering back at the river’s edge, one of them that flanked the near-island the carnival had set up upon. “I never noticed anything odd while I played before, though admittedly I never played outside a city before joining the carnival.”

“You have no formal training?” asked someone beside you.

You shook your head and offered yet another shrug.

“No.” The answer was plain, but honest.

You could feel a pair of eyes watching you, and when you peered up from the fire to see whom they belonged to, Mollymauk was matching your gaze from across the circle of relaxing performers.

He stared at you for a few moments, and you stared in turn, unsure what he was trying to get out of the look. He didn’t come off as intimidating, nor angry, nothing of the sort--curiosity seemed to cling to him as much as the alcohol did, a soft, dark blush on his cheeks the only indicator of the well-earned hard liquor being passed around the group.

“You could have fooled us all easily,” He chuckled, averting the gaze for a moment to look at the waterway sitting just behind your merry little group. “Perhaps an indication to look into another talent?”

The words were a suggestion, but the tone was gentle reverence, something that caused a mirrored blush upon your own cheeks. 

It wasn’t too much longer before many of the carnival members tucked away for the evening into their tents, to sleep for the continuation of the cycle for a few nights more of performances and entertainment.

The only ones left by the fire, the last to sleep, was you and Mollymauk.

There was silence between the two of you for a fair time after the last other person bid you both a good night, but it wasn’t an awkward lack of words--there was simply something peaceful about enjoying the night together. The sky clear, the air mild, the town bountiful in coin and welcoming interest for the carnival, they weren’t events that came together very often.

Eventually though, as one would assume, the silence became jokes, and jokes became conversation, leading to you and Molly sitting side-by-side and talking hushedly in the quiet of the darkened evening.

“I hope you choose to continue that special performance of yours,” Molly said, his eyes glancing over to you from the dying, yet still crackling flame. “It was….rather beautiful, I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

It could almost be painted flattery, those compliments. From any other mouth, you would take them no more than such, no more than hallow or thin compliments, but from the tiefling beside you they feel nearly magical. Warmth begins to bundle up in your chest as you feel his gaze, gentle, but beyond the influence of any alcohol he had hours before.

There is no shame, nor secret, in the little trysts that come with being a member of the carnival. For some it is merely a method of relaxation, and for others it may even come with a thin veil of romance--perhaps for others still it is the only romance they’ve ever experienced. 

And surely, it’s no secret that Molly is a bit of a flirt, innocent though he may be most of the time, more of a gentleperson than anything, but you can’t ever recall a time or rumor of any of his own nights of pleasure with others in the carnival. You wonder, if only for a moment, the attraction felt between the two of you that night under the stars was the first for both of you.

It almost feels as magical as the performance. You can’t help but suppress the excitement that seems to simmer in your veins at the prospect, the intimacy, the heat as both of your bodies start to lean into one another and--

“You’re doing it again darling, I think.”

A bubble swirls in front of your face mere moments after Molly’s words fill the air.

A blink, startled from the shape, and then you’re turning left and right to realize what has transpired in your lost thoughts. Molly seems just as surprised as you as you gather the realization that bubbles, dozens of them, float around the two of you. They look beautiful, multicolored almost, but clear enough to reflect the brightness of the moon in the sky.

And just as your performance had been, with the realization of the phenomenon, the cutting of your focus, the bubbles themselves begin to pop. One after another, until you’re left staring at Molly, and he at you.

Emotions.

The realization finally hits you, a connection from your performance to your thoughts just before realizing what had just occurred.

The magic is controlled by your emotions.

The logic is sound enough to spark curiosity. You ponder it for a moment, but only that, as you watch Molly’s features turn to concern and intrigue. A smile pulls on your lips for a moment before there’s laughter, gentle, falling from your lips.

“I’m not sure if that answered or posed more questions,” You say, relieved just as much as you are curious, but nonetheless amused by the turn of events between you Mollymauk.

“A mystery to solve?” He posed in question.

“You could say that,” You answer lightly, feeling the pressure of his shoulder against yours. “Maybe even a family connection I didn’t realize I could even inherit.” You glanced up at the moon for a moment, then down to the waters, watching the reflection glisten in the peaceful waves. 

A moment passes, but the warmth remains between you two. The interest lingers, an unspoken question that you yearn to answer. The mystery, or lack thereof, is pushed to the side for another day--another adventure to travel when you aren’t so much beguiled by the ruby-red gaze on you.

“Do you have room for another in your tent tonight?”

The words leave you so softly, almost toying, in a moment of gentle bravery that you weren’t sure you had. It’s honest regardless, the desire growing as you wonder what it would be like to share a bed with Molly--what does he look like beneath those layers of detailed silk and cloth? What noises does he make while ensnared with pleasure?

For a moment, you don’t get an answer, and silence is the only thing hanging in the air. It doesn’t so much scare you as second-guess the feeling that seemed to hang at your mind, the notes you had been getting from him off and on the past several nights that you shared a moment like this.

You feel a hand at your back, turning you towards him. Before you have the moment to catch your breath or thoughts the warmth of his lips silence them all. They are soft against yours, pliant as he carefully lingers for just a few seconds of a chaste, yet unhurried kiss.

You hear him whisper your name as the two of you part, faces only inches apart. His cheeks are darkened again, a blush that compliments the deep red of his eyes--it looks beautiful on him. Whether the sound of your name is a plea, a question, anything at all, you feel the sudden and unescapable need to pull him back against you.

And so you do.

His arms wrap around your body and press you close against him, enough so that you can feel the faint pounding of his heart even through the many layers of his ornate attire. You can feel his sharp breaths whenever the two of you part, lips feverishly pressing together in what could almost be akin to the silly passion of teenagers. 

Molly and you are wrapped in one another’s arms before you realize that you’re still by the dying fire. You’re on your back, smothered pleasantly by his weight and warmth, and stare up at him in a moment of quiet reprieve.

“We should retire for the night,” you whisper. Molly smiles in kind, lips parted just enough to see the gleam of his sharp teeth, looking almost like a delighted predator that excites you far more than what should be appropriate from a mere smile.

“Now that’s an idea.”

There’s not a moment of hesitation before he moves to stand, pulling you with him up and into his arms before suddenly lifting you off your feet.

It doesn’t take more than a dozen seconds or so to get to the tent he sleeps in.

When Molly steps into the small, yet uncramped space, he doesn’t so much drop you onto the bedroll as he falls onto it with you. Your bodies press against one another again, more passionate this time, since there is no worry of prying eyes to watch as your hands begin to tug gently at his outermost cloak. 

No words are needed to further emphasize your growing desire to see him bare. He sheds the clothing without a word of complaint himself, but Molly gives you a pointed look in return afterwards, his body above you and his lips just tantalizingly out of reach.

“You should return the favor, darling.” 

He watches you for a few moments, as the words and their meaning take hold. You gently scoff and purse your lips in mild, mostly jesting annoyance brought from the teasing.

“Might as well strip bare then instead of doing it one layer at a time.”

“But that is sometimes the fun part,” Molly says, chuckling, but nevertheless moving to remove the rest of his ornate clothes. “If I wasn’t so attached to this outfit I’d might even let you  _ tear it off of me _ .”

The suggestion alone grabs your attention--it must be the look in your eyes that makes him laugh, because it certainly causes a flip of your stomach to think about such an act. The fire, the driving passion that smothers your thoughts enough to claw and tear cloth from wanting flesh. It seems like something from a smut novel you’d read in secret.

You pretend to focus your efforts instead on stripping yourself down to your underclothes. There is one layer left before you’re left bare, and while there’s enough trust between you and Molly to not feel ashamed in being exposed, it does feel rather intimate. He seems to feel the same, as he too pauses at the last layer of cloth keeping the two of you from seeing your fully naked forms.

And then there’s a beat of unsure confusion. A moment, a heartbeat really, where you and him are staring at one another in almost innocent wonder.

He’s covered in scars, moreso than you have ever seen on another person before. They criss-cross over his skin, light marks of lavender that are obviously that of a blade. They honestly look more like tiger stripes than scars with the sheer number of them marking his body.

“You’re beautiful.”

A breath, two breaths escape your lips before you realise that you said the thought aloud. And Molly, for all that you knew of the enigmatic, mysterious tiefling, looks genuinely  _ taken _ by the compliment. He seems flushed as he settles on the ground beside you, as if lost for a proper response that he almost always had ready. After all, he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, and no one could deny the fact without withholding some truth. 

Mollymauk has been called pretty, even beautiful (among other things) plenty of times before. The compliment in itself is not something new, but perhaps it is the meaning, the breathless wonder behind the two words that catch him in a moment of vulnerability. Because truly, emotions are weird, and playing in the realms of passion and desire only make them worse.

But it’s exciting, and you feel no shame in being able to make a look of gentle appreciation form over the other’s face. If anything, it only deepens the heat in your belly, the fact that you may be one of few to see that exact look over his face. It cuts the silence between you when you reach for him and tug him close again.

That seems to knock Molly from his momentary trance, taking the spot over your body by straddling your hips and leaning down to nip the flesh of your shoulder.

“Anything you’re uncomfortable with?” the words come as a whisper, tracing your skin as his lips lavish it wish kisses. “Things I should avoid? Ignore?”

You’re lost in a moment of warm intimacy to answer, simply relishing the sweetness of his lips. For someone so covered in scars and shrouded in mystery, he’s so gentle with you. It’s almost as if there’s a fear or worry, held just behind his words. You wonder if there’s a reason for the caution, a personal one or not.

You answer huskily enough, thinking only on the building heat of your stomach, your inner thighs, wanting to be touched through nothing more than a night of passion.

“No--no I’m good.” After a moment, you can’t help but chuckle, hands carefully caressing down Molly’s sides and feeling the gentle bumps of his scars. “--I mean unless you have some crazy rope bondage equipment in here you’re ready to pull out for this occasion?”

Mollymauk simply grins and waggles his brows, an expression enough to warrant a look of concern and a press of your hand against his chest. He laughs, just for a moment, before he leans down again to nuzzle against your jaw.

“I’m prepared for a little fun, but not  _ that _ prepared.”

The atmosphere of amusement gently falls back into heated need after a few seconds, your fingers finally catching on the hem of his shorts, the last remaining thing keeping you from seeing him fully bare. Before you have a chance to tug needily at them, Molly beats you to the motion--his hands are against your body, tugging at what remains of cloth until you aid him enough to strip you bare.

He takes no moment of hesitation before he’s lavishing your body with attention, mouth and hands careful in their curious exploration of your chest.

“Tell me if I do anything--” He murmurs against your bare skin, lips brushing across one nipple. “--anything you don’t like.”

Your affirmative answer was nothing more than a gasp as he takes it between his teeth, toying the bud with the tip of his tongue. The other is massaged by Molly’s careful, warm hand, leaving you awash in a pleasant sensation of attention and intimacy. It’s lovely, but you can barely take a minute or two of the attention before you start squirming, wanting something else.

“Molly please--” the plea is airy and breathless, because you’re moments away of simply spreading your legs apart and begging for him to move south. “Your attention is sorely needed  _ elsewhere _ .”

“Elsewhere?” The tiefling teases, eyes glancing up at you with no shortage of mischief in them. “Pray tell where you mean, darling? Surely you can be a little more specific than that?” His fingers continue to play across your chest, pinching gently enough to get a reaction. If only to make matters worse, you begin to feel his own interest against you--a firm, pleasing heat that grinds against your body, your lowermost section of your belly. You’re not in the right position to grind yourself up to get any relief though, and that only annoys you further.

“Molly.” The name is serious on your near-pleading tone. “Please--touch me.”

“I don’t know where unless you tell me.” 

He held his ground despite the aching, throbbing heat giving his own desires away plainly. His willpower was strong enough to linger on in his teasing, though it did plenty to make the need simmer in your veins.

“Just--I--fuck--” You nearly sob in frustration. “My  _ clit,  _ Molly, my  _ cunt _ , anything just--”

He doesn’t hesitate the moment that you specify where you want his attention, you’d have to give him that much. He’s nearly voracious for how he moves down your body, arms under your thighs and lifting your hips so that he’s positioned ever so lovingly at your core.

His fingers grip the curves of your hips as he devours you, wholly, with a passion that leaves you without a breath to take in. You’re not sure if he’s working on experience or sheer passion, though Mollymauk seems to know enough to press and roll his tongue the bundle of nerves that had been throbbing for attention since the two of you toppled into the bedroll.

“Oh--Oh fuck--!” The curses fly from your lips as he presses closer, dipping his tongue inside of you. He hums in seeming appreciation, and the gentle vibrations only make the pleasure all the better. It’s enough for your hips to start thrusting, uselessly, against his face. “Molly oh--oh god, Molly.”

His name is spoken in near-reverence as he claims an initial orgasm from your body. It’s quick and only somewhat satisfying, but it certainly readies you more than well for what you had been wanting from him the moment your bodies pressed together.

Your lover strips bare as you recover from your orgasm. As your eyes move back to take him in, you can’t help but notice how hard he is already, the head of his cock already glistening with precum.

Your legs spread seemingly on their own accord.

“Aren’t you eager?” Molly teases, the power in them hollow with how breathless he sounds as well. “If you thought my mouth felt good on you, just wait until I’m fucking you into the ground.”

Has he always such a dirty mouth? You’re not sure, but it turns you on all the more--and this doesn’t seem to go unnoticed.

“Have you been thinking of this for a while?” He moves closer, enough so that you can wrap your arms around the small of his back--his length grinds against your heat, enough to spark a need but not enough to scratch the itch inside you. “The first night--when you watched me tell my stories--were you thinking of this? How it would feel for me to be ontop of you? Were you thinking of me pressing you down? Having my way with you?”

It makes your body ache to hear his voice dripping over the words, filthy and powerful. Your arms gently wrap around his shoulders, pulling his face down towards yours, close enough so that you can kiss his jaw and whisper your need against his skin.

“Please fuck me, Molly.” You’re not sure what else there is to say to him at this point, nearly shaking with want. “I  _ need _ you.”

There’s a pause of silence. Gentle. Hot. And then you hear him return your whisper, lips against your ear.

“Then have me, darling.”

He thrusts slowly, enough to let you adjust to his size, but quickly enough so that the burn of it is nearly intoxicating. It fills you entirely, perfectly, and he bottoms-out only a few moments later. There’s no word to describe how good it feels to be beneath him, the weight of Molly’s body ontop of you, the warmth of his arms, his chest, the gentle pressure of his cock filling you up. It’s truly intoxicating.

When you nuzzle silently against his throat, Mollymauk takes that as the indication to start moving--he’s slow and passionate, focusing less on the speed and more on the strength of it all. He’s able to hit every little spot inside you that craves for contact, your body a listless wreck of pleasure clinging to him for all he has to give to you.

“So good.”

“So hot, so tight.”

“Make noises for me--I don’t care if anyone hears how good I’m fucking you.”

Mollymauk is not silent as he pulls sob after sob from your lips. For as cordial and carefully-spoken as he is from day-to-day events, he’s almost a needy beast as he moves between your legs. You hear moments of him slipping into another language, a snarl in the back of his throat as his pace finally begins to quicken, but it doesn’t halt the heat in your stomach. If anything, it only makes it hotter, tighter, the craving for the carnal intimacy he seems to be more than happy to give you. 

His fingers grip into your hips so hard that you’re sure they will bruise, but the pain, the need of his grip, is enough to tip you closer to the edge. The sweet pleasure-pain is so close, your toes begin to curl and your head is thrown back--

“Molly--molly I’m close--”

“Yes darling--let go for me, let it all go--”

The affirmation is all you need to fall. Climax crashes into your body like a wave of pleasure, coursing through your body from your core so hard that it makes you sob into your lover’s throat. 

The tiefling all but curses in a language unknown to you when your body grips him, dragging him over the edge with you in a mutual moment of pure, carnal bliss. You feel his tail lash behind him, swiping against your legs in the moment of listless pleasure that the two of you bask in together with your writhing bodies.

Mollymauk breaths your name against your ear, and it sounds so beautiful in his voice--it sounds like a prayer, a reverent word of thanks, and you can only think to repay it by whispering his name in kind. It’s so warm, the moments after climax; both of you fall into a thick afterglow and, after a breath, so too does Molly on you.

He’s heavy, but the weight isn’t all that unpleasant. If anything, it’s comforting.

“Hm, stay right where you are.”

The words are muffled beneath him. Beautifully, warmly muffled. 

He honors the request for a few minutes at least before rolling over, choosing to lay instead beside you, his arms laying across your body lazily. It may not be as nice as his weight smothering you slightly, but there’s something intimate about the position, about how the two of you were laying together, close enough to feel eachother’s breathing get more gentle as the minutes ticked past.

“...is that what you wanted?” 

The words caught you a little off-guard. 

“Excuse me?”

“This, the sex we had, was it...what you wanted?”

You stare at Molly through half-lidded eyes, though you hoped they still came off as serious as you intended them to be.

“Don’t make it sound  _ too _ casual, Molly,” Your laugh was gentle in the air of the tent. “It’s not like this was a one time only thing.”

There was silence.

“....I mean, this wasn’t….a one time thing, right?”

You stared harder at Molly as he blinked, momentarily, in surprise.

“I mean--” He seemed taken back for a moment, just as much as you were yourself by the insinuation. “I didn’t--I mean. It’s whatever you’d want of it.”

Did he mean it to sound so vague?

Regardless, you took the moment to snuggle closer, hoping that it aided in the truth of your words as you replied sleepily.

“Maybe….maybe I’d want it to be a more common thing between us.”

Molly was silent again, but you didn’t feel as worried about it this time. Instead of answering right away he shifts, moving so that his chin was pressed to the top of your head, your face gently tucked against his throat.

“That would be nice,” he finally murmured, seeming almost satisfied with the answer. “It...would be very nice.”

Sleep began to tug at both of your minds, dulled even more by the exhaustion of the short but passion-fueled tryst between the two of you. Still, there was one more question that plagued you, more curiosity than anything since you hadn’t yet heard an assured answer from any of the other carnival members.

“Hey Molly?”

“Hm?”

“What is the next town we’re scheduled to visit?”

For a few seconds he didn’t answer, and you almost thought that he had fallen asleep, or nearly so. But his arm wraps tighter around you and pulls you snuggly against him.

“Trostenwald, darling,” he murmurs into your hair. “We’ve been there before--it shouldn’t be any troublesome for us.”


End file.
